


Fascination

by Cassiopeia_Kass



Category: Andromeda (TV)
Genre: Love Festival, M/M, Matchmaker Beka Valentine, Mutual attraction they don't know is mutual, Season 1, Undercover Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-18
Updated: 2001-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23960617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiopeia_Kass/pseuds/Cassiopeia_Kass
Summary: Dylan’s distracted....
Relationships: Seamus Harper/Dylan Hunt
Kudos: 7





	Fascination

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: They aren’t mine, but if they were, I’d let them have more fun. All things _Gene Roddenberry’s Andromeda_ actually belong to Gene Roddenberry’s estate, Majel Roddenberry, and Tribune Entertainment Company.
> 
> NOTE: For Vee, whose [Coming to Terms](https://archiveofourown.org/series/321) inspired me.
> 
> (This is [Viridian5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5) posting for Cassiopeia, a friend of mine who's long gone out of fandom but left me as a kind of caretaker of her _Andromeda_ fics. They've been linked at my personal site for a very long time but I wanted to share them with the fandom more.)

The trouble was, Dylan had no life outside of the mission. He woke with it, ate with it, slept with it. Hell, he practically made love to it.

So, late in the ship’s night and Dylan couldn’t sleep; he didn’t waste time trying. Instead, he went to the command deck, as he generally did; if nothing else, Rommie’s presence was reassuring, a sort of security blanket in a universe he didn’t know well.

Even after a year, he was still playing catch up, and it irked him.

All systems were normal; everything was running smoothly, a welcome sight after their most recent collision with Salari pirates. Not that Andromeda didn’t have the pirates outgunned, but hell, that hadn’t stopped the pirates from getting off a few good shots that had wreaked minor havoc on the sensor array.

He stopped near the sensor console and looked down at a pair of legs. "Harper."

The legs jerked and there was a muted thud from under the console. "Ow!" Harper slid out from under, peered at him. "Don’t sneak up on a guy, hey." Rubbed his forehead.

Dylan arched an eyebrow and crouched. "What are you doing?"

"Oh. Just fine-tuning, that’s all." Harper flicked him half a grin and slid back under. "I thought the display looked a little fuzzy, figured it wouldn’t hurt to tune it up a bit. Don’t want Rommie seeing the universe through blurry vision."

Dylan smiled faintly, tilted his head to peer under, squinted against the light of the laser probe. When Harper wasn’t making him crazy, he had to admire the busy brain that had managed to absorb the details of Andromeda’s systems in a startlingly short period of time. It was interesting to consider what Harper would have been in the Commonwealth universe of Dylan’s day, interesting and vaguely depressing. Harper’s shirt had ridden up, baring a hand’s breath of belly and Harper’s navel and he found himself staring at that.

Really staring at that.

Nice little concave navel, smooth pale skin, and suddenly, he had the urgent and compelling desire to touch that skin. With his tongue.

He nearly fell backward at that realization. 

Harper shifted upward to reach something, thus baring more skin, and dear god, he could see the first beginning of what his roommate at the academy had called the Treasure Trail and in spite of his shock his gaze followed it down, past the waistband of Harper’s pants and was he _really_ ogling his engineer’s crotch?

Dylan shot up to his feet fast enough to make himself dizzy. "Carry on," he said hastily and retreated, too aware that a lot of his blood supply had gone south.

He must be losing his mind. He needed... he needed a drink. So he retreated all the way to his quarters and had one.

It didn’t erase the image of Harper’s bare skin, but it _did_ allow him to sleep.

  


* * *

Harper wondered if he’d done something to piss Dylan off. It wasn’t like he ordinarily saw all that much of Dylan in a day, but lately, Dylan seemed to be avoiding him. 

He asked Beka about it after a few days.

She arched an eyebrow. "He hasn’t said anything. And you know Dylan, if he’s pissed off, he finds a way to let us know."

Harper grinned. "Yeah, like stomping out of here in a bad temper."

She grinned back. "Exactly. Sarcasm becomes him."

"Okay, well, I just wondered. He came in the other night when I was working on the sensor array, scared the hell out of me. Maybe he just felt bad cuz I nearly gave myself a concussion. How the _hell_ can he be so quiet in those boots?"

"He’s sneaky." Beka grinned.

"Who’s sneaky?" Dylan aaked, appearing suddenly.

Harper’s heart thumped hard. "Jeez, you are. You have to do that?"

Dylan _smirked_. "How do you think a captain stays on top of things?"

"By being sneaky," Beka said comfortably.

Harper was too engrossed in Dylan’s smirk. "Well, you’re both good at it, explains a lot." He stretched, working out the kinks caused by working in the small accessway. Dylan’s gaze dropped, went focused and intent for a heartbeat. Involuntarily, Harper looked down. "Is my fly open?"

Dylan blinked. "Not that I’m aware." Drily.

"Oh." He flushed.

Beka grinned at him. "He was admiring that expanse of Harper skin, probably. Harper, you have to get longer shirts, unless you’re deliberately trying to drive us all mad with desire."

He flushed again, Dylan flushed and looked away, and whoa, that was odd. "Hands off the Harper, I’m saving myself."

"For death?" Beka chortled merrily at her own sense of humor. "Kidding, kidding."

"Well, I’m outta here, got things to do." Getting out while the getting was good and before things got weirder than they already were seemed like a good idea. He tucked the hem of his shirt into his pants, stuck his tongue out at Beka while Dylan wasn’t looking, and split.

At least Dylan wasn’t pissed at him. That smirk had been kind of appealing.

  


* * *

Sweating, Dylan turned a corner, kept an even pace, and wondered what was wrong with him?

Of course, running helped. 

Well, no it didn’t, but it certainly kept Dylan’s mind off Harper’s belly--and other parts of Harper’s anatomy--by the time he’d run hard and long enough. Which meant, given his state of mind today, that he was taking several extra laps around the corridors.

Why Harper? Why now? Just yesterday he’d had a train of thought permanently derailed by Harper bending over to pick up a tool; it was mortifying.

An attraction to Beka he could have understood. She was sharp, tough, smart and undeniably attractive, and yes, his first officer. Maybe his subconscious mind was shutting that off ahead of time because of the obvious complications.

On the other hand, what the _hell_ was his subconscious mind doing with Harper? 

Two days ago, he’d found himself staring at the nape of Harper’s neck, wondering what it would taste like.

Yesterday, he’d had the brief and intense image/sensation of what Harper’s ass would feel like against him. And that had been fully clothed. He hadn’t let himself get to imagining warm, bare skin, or what Harper’s ass might feel like _around_ him, and god, this wasn’t helping, this introspection, all it did was make his cock throb.

And focusing on running was impossible with an erection. Dammit.

It was time to hit the shower. He _had_ to stop thinking like this.

And of course, on his way back to his quarters, who should he encounter but the object of his insanity? Cheerfully oblivious, Harper greeted him. "Hey, Beka says we might swing by Seneschal?"

Dylan blinked, wiped his forehead with his forearm. Had he agreed to that? God, he had, while looking at the back of Harper’s neck two days ago. "Barring unforeseen circumstances," he agreed, "we can."

"That’s like maybe, right?" Harper tilted his head. "How strong a maybe?"

He was standing close enough that Dylan could _smell_ him. Shower gel, Harper, and whatever Harper used in his hair to make it stand on end. It didn’t help his state of mind. "I take it you have plans if it’s a strong maybe?"

Harper’s eyes gleamed. "Oh, yeah. Me and Trance and the casino. Well, if I can talk Trance into it."

Dylan shook his head. "I don’t want to know." What he really wanted to do was rub his face in Harper’s hair. Among other things. "I really don’t--but remember, Trance is guided by good intentions."

Harper blinked. "Well, yeah, of course. Look at it this way, if we win big, we can throw half of it into Andromeda."

Fortunately, he was still master of his impulses even if he couldn’t entirely control his body. "Ah. Well, as I said, that’s a maybe. Barring unforeseen circumstances, which makes it a strong maybe. So if you’re going to convince Trance of your good intentions, you’d better start now."

Harper grinned. "Good point. I’ll do that." Jaunty look. "Getting your exercise in, huh?"

Dylan looked down at his sweaty self. "What gave it away? The aroma?" Drily.

Another grin. "Nah, it’s that wet t-shirt contest look. Looks good on you." And after that highly provocative comment, Harper continued on his way.

Unable to prevent himself, Dylan looked over his shoulder. At Harper’s ass. 

God, he had it bad.

  


* * *

Harper nearly walked into the wall, fortunately after Dylan had gone on his way. He could have bitten his tongue out, what a moron, making a comment about wet t-shirts. It wasn’t his fault, it was Dylan’s fault; nobody oughtta smell that good after working out, and he’d been fine with his minor infatuation with Dylan’s body until Dylan had actually started to be nice to him, not just officially pleasant. After avoiding him for days, he was suddenly running into Dylan all over the place.

Okay, to be fair, maybe that was _his_ fault.

He banged his head on the wall. Wet t-shirt. Way to be discreet, Harper, he told himself and winced. 

"What are you doing?" Beka’s tone was perplexed.

Harper whipped around. "Nothing." Innocently. 

She eyed him. "Nothing?"

"Nothing important. Did you want something?" 

"Yeah, I want your wish list of parts if we stop at Seneschal. Might as well take advantage of it."

Take advantage. He so did not want to let his mind go there. Well, yeah, he did, but not in front of Beka. "Okay, I’ll get one together for you. Anything else?" His mind wasn’t on lists, his mind was on the way Dylan had looked and smelled and how the _hell_ was he supposed to get anything done with that image on his mind?

"No," Beka said mildly, "That’s all. Don’t hurt yourself, Harper."

"What, me? Nah." If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Beka was smirking at him. He hoped he was wrong. If she _ever_ got wind of how he felt about Dylan, she’d never let him forget it. "See ya." 

"Uh huh." 

God, she _was_ smirking at him. He managed, barely, not to retreat too quickly.

  


* * *

The officer’s mess, too early in the ship’s day, and for some reason, Beka had decided to join Dylan for breakfast. Beka and Harper and Trance, to be precise, along with the schematic of improvements designed to increase the production of the hydroponic gardens in concert with another plan.

"There’s this great thing," Trance told Dylan enthusiastically, "This grain, callix, is high in protein, and it’s very, very versatile. It can cut our food costs by half, Dylan."

"And, this is the bad news/good news thing," Beka leaned forward over her mug of coffee. "It’s native to Arpedi and the only place you can get the seed grain is Arpedi. But the thing is, they don’t like to part with it. They’re exercising a real monopoly."

Dylan was finding it hard to concentrate. Freshly showered, shaved, and spiked, Harper was sitting beside him, the schematic spread out. Sitting close, to better explain it, apparently oblivious to Dylan’s personal space.

"But," Trance put in, "this is their yearly Festival time, and every year at Festival, they celebrate the harvest by, um, giving every citizen a little bag of seed grain. Mostly it’s symbolic of a time when everyone farmed."

"So if someone were to go there and blend in with the citizens, they could collect some of the seed grain." Beka arched her eyebrows. "And you could buy enough of the processed callix that Trance could use the genetic material from the seed grain to unprocess the callix."

"So to speak," Trance agreed.

Dylan frowned. "Excuse me, but isn’t that _theft_?" 

"Sounds like it to me," Harper muttered, smoothing out his schematic

He glanced aside at Harper, inhaled, and regretted it. 

"Well, see, that’s the best thing, Dylan!" Trance beamed at him. "It isn’t. Because, you see, the Arpedi aren’t nice at all, they charge starving worlds exorbitantly for callix, and if we can break that monopoly, we can give it away! Like the tundra flowers! Good will for the Commonwealth!"

Dylan opened his mouth. Closed it. Took a sip of coffee. "Have either of you heard of economic balance?"

Beka rolled her eyes. "All right, we’ll only give it away for emergencies. But Dylan, honestly, do you know how many people died of famine on Eridani last year?"

Did he want to know? Probably not at the moment. "Not until I’ve had my coffee--no, I’m not being flippant, I believe you."

"And the Arpedi wouldn’t help at all." Trance was indignant. "You should have seen what they did."

"All right, all right." He was beginning to get a headache. "I take it you have evidence for all this."

"Already uploaded to your log." Beka smiled. 

"What did you have in mind?" Dylan sighed.

"Well, I thought just a small party should go to Arpedi. Specifically, you and Harper. You, because you have that official air, and you _are_ the captain, and Harper because he’ll need to disable the electronic tags they give every visitor during festival." Beka leaned back in her chair, smirked at him. "So you can blend with the crowd."

"Whoa, me?" Harper sounded alarmed. "And Dylan? Shouldn’t Tyr go?"

"You _know_ how the Arpedi feel about Nietzscheans," Beka said and dropped her spoon. She pushed her chair back, looked under the table. "Harper, would you mind terribly, it’s on your side."

Harper promptly pushed his chair back and bent down to reach under the table. Dylan glanced over, swallowed hard as Harper’s shirt pulled free of his pants, revealing the pale, smooth, and very tempting small of Harper’s back.

All he would have to do is reach out and put his hand there....

"So, it’s a short ride to Arpedi, only a couple of hours, I figure you two should be back in 24 to 36 hours."

Harper shifted, stretched. "Jeez, Beka, it’s practically under your feet." 

Beka glanced down. "Is it? I didn’t see it. So, you think you guys can handle it?" 

Harper’s skin would be warm, would be clean, and would taste faintly of shower gel and even more faintly of salt. "Of course."

"Great!" Beka beamed at him.

It jarred him into realizing he’d just agreed to something without thought. Again. Well, no, he’d thought about it, but he’d just agreed to be alone with Harper for 24 to 36 hours. Which was just plain insanity. And without coming up with a believable reason, he couldn’t possibly alter the plan now.

He was doomed.

Harper sat up, spun the spoon across the table, his expression disgruntled. "You could at least _tell_ me you’re planning on sending me somewhere," he growled at Beka.

Beka smirked at him. "Consider yourself told."

Harper sounded about as thrilled as Dylan felt. He wasn’t sure how he should take that, decided not to take it personally. Yet.

"It appears we have a mission," he told Harper drily. "Electronic tags."

"And seed callix." Harper sighed. "Okay, well, I’m not working on anything crucial, no biggie." He brightened. "Besides, Festival on Arpedi’s s’posed to be interesting."

Beka smirked again. "Stay out of trouble."

Harper grinned. "I’ll try."

"Good, because I’m not bailing you out," Dylan said mildly. "Let’s get going then."

Harper nodded, picked up the schematic. "Okay, okay. I just need to grab some things. Those tags take some careful work. I’ll meet you at the Maru."

  


* * *

At least Dylan was in uniform, Harper thought, entering the hangar bay. Dylan in uniform was official enough it kept Harper’s mind out of the gutter. So to speak. It was harder to indulge in carnal daydreams when Dylan looked official because he wasn’t prone to teasing himself with things he wasn’t going to get.

Thus, finding Dylan in casual civilian clothes on the Maru was almost an unpleasant surprise. Almost. "Where’s your uniform," he blurted.

Dylan looked up from his checklist. "Beka reminded me that the Arpedi aren’t particularly happy with the Commonwealth."

"Oh." Good point. "Okay." But it was going to be a lot tougher to keep those daydreams away while Dylan was wearing that shirt and those pants. He was going to have to keep busy, that was all there was to it. "Want some coffee?"

"Sure." Dylan looked back at the checklist.

That was okay, too. He went back to the galley, started a pot, and came back out to his station. Not that Dylan, strictly speaking, needed him for a short jaunt like this. But he couldn’t control everything, like his desire to sort of hang out with Dylan, even while his rational mind objected on the principle that he shouldn’t torture himself.

Dylan smiled at him when he sat down. God, did Dylan smile at him. 

This trip was going to be torture.

  


* * *

Harper was good company. Dylan supposed he shouldn’t find that surprising; when Harper wasn’t making him crazy, Harper made him laugh, loosened him up, lightened the weight of the universe on his shoulder. Harper was also a treasure trove of slightly bent knowledge, filtered through Harper’s experience and viewpoint.

"The customs guys are the most tight-assed in the universe," Harper told him sotto voce, as they waited in line. "And Festival just makes them worse. I think it’s because they have to work through it because of the tourists and the Arpedi who come home for it."

"This Festival is not only a big deal for the Arpedi, then, but big for business."

"You got it." Harper craned his head around to see the head of the line. "Great, we’re almost there. The electronic thing is a kind of bracelet, unobtrusive. Fortunately, the tech here is a little backward, it’s no big deal to, ah, get around." Harper’s voice was very soft.

This whole thing was looking more and more insane as they approached the customs entrance. "Are they this thorough on exit?" Dylan murmured, frowning.

"Mostly. Not too bad. Besides, I’ve got a way to get us past without any problems. We’ve, ah, sorta had this kind of problem before." Harper glanced up at him cautiously.

Did he want to know? No, he didn’t want to know. The term ‘salvage’ had covered a wide range of activities even 300 years ago, and he wasn’t laboring under any delusions of virtue with regard to his new crew. Still, as Rommie had said, they had good hearts and survival was survival. He nodded at Harper and his hand, for reasons of its own, rose to rest on Harper’s shoulder.

Harper blinked at him, smiled uncertainly. "While we’re here, we oughtta have some of their seafood. You won’t believe how good it is."

"Sounds like an idea," Dylan agreed. "Give us a chance to find out where I’m going to buy the stuff to begin with."

Harper’s expression was pleased and unsettled at the same time. "Yeah."

It was almost an hour before they emerged from the spaceport, both of them wearing slim plasteel bracelets that indicated their offworld origins. "It seems vaguely discriminatory," Dylan muttered, examining his wrist.

"Yeah, well, it is. They like offworld money, but they aren’t crazy about offworlders." Harper was studying the kiosk display just outside the port entrance. "Okay, here we are. Trade center’s on this side of the city, but I need to get over to the temple, too." Quick look back at Dylan. "We can eat here, this is a good place." He tapped an icon. "Not far from the trade center or the temple, and the food is good."

"Good." Dylan leaned in to look, which wasn’t the best idea. It put him in close proximity to Harper’s neck and ear and while he managed to keep his hand under control, Harper’s scent was maddeningly enticing. He kept his eyes on the display and inhaled anyway. "All right, let’s go. Public transport?"

"Yeah, it’s less noticeable." Harper turned his head and, god, breathed on Dylan. 

Coffee and Harper and he had to step back suddenly or do something more insane than this mission. Harper’s expression was pleased and unsettled again. Dylan wished he understood what that was about, resolved not to think about it.

Public transport was surprisingly comfortable, and Harper pointed out the landmarks he knew, and some he didn’t; the restaurant was quiet and the food was, as Harper had promised, excellent. The Arpedi version of prawns, grilled with vegetables and served with spiced callix--which was also very good.

"You like?" Harper asked, dipping a prawn into some kind of sauce.

"Very much," Dylan told him and watched, fascinated, as Harper licked some of the sauce off the prawn and then bit into it. 

It was insane. He was becoming aroused from watching Harper eat prawns. Although if he were honest with himself, he was at the point where he found everything Harper did erotically charged. Idiot, he told himself, he had to stop thinking this way. Or something.

Or something.

Another prawn dipped in sauce, licked and bitten. He was going to spontaneously combust right here and now if he kept watching Harper, turned his attention to his own plate. "So, you’re going to the temple square and I’m going to buy 5 kilotonnes of callix."

"Yeah. We can meet at the trans station, if you want."

"Or I can meet you at the temple. Or here." There was something pleasant about that idea, about having dinner with Harper. He looked up, and Harper licked another prawn, bit it in half. 

"Sure. We can meet here." Harper nodded at him, took a bite of his callix. "You know, this stuff really is good."

"Yeah, it is. We could have dinner here before we leave, if you’d like." God, he sounded like he was asking Harper for a date. Maybe he was.

Harper brightened. "Yeah? That would be great. You know, we could get some prawns at the trade center, take ‘em back."

"I’ll look into it." There was sauce on Harper’s upper lip. Dylan immediately wanted to lick it off. Or look away. Or something. "Uh, you’ve got sauce--" He touched his own lip. Watched in a kind of paralyzed arousal as the tip of Harper’s tongue slipped out to try and lick the sauce off. "No, over a little."

Harper’s tongue was....very pink. Among other things. And he was definitely going to combust. Or something. The blood flow to his brain was absolutely suffering. 

"Did I get it?" Harper asked, blinking at him.

Well, he was staring, no wonder Harper looked puzzled. Dear god, if he had to watch that tongue....

He reached out and used his thumb on Harper’s upper lip, wiped the sauce away, probably far more slowly than he should have. Harper’s mouth was warm, soft, and dear god. "There."

Unaccountably, Harper went scarlet. "Oh, sorry."

"No problem." He managed a smile, even though he wasn’t going to be able to stand up for some time.

He just hoped Harper hadn’t noticed.

  


* * *

Harper was practically afraid to breathe. He was so hard he ached, and he prayed to gods he didn’t believe in to keep Dylan from noticing. Of course, turning bright red was probably a kind of giveaway, but Dylan hadn’t seemed to notice.

Dylan didn’t seem to notice a lot of things, but that didn’t mean he really didn’t notice them. Dylan might bark a lot of the time, but he was also, Harper had noticed, innately kind, and maybe he was just pretending he didn’t notice.

And he was going to drive himself totally nuts worrying about it. "Anyway, dinner would be great," he said, a little desperate to distract himself. "We could eat here or try another place."

"Here is fine," Dylan looked around. "I like this."

He flushed again, pleased in spite of everything. "The Harper is good."

Brief grin. "The Harper is good," Dylan agreed and licked prawn sauce off his fingers.

Oh. Shit. He’d never watched Dylan eat before. He was so turned on it was a wonder that his hair wasn’t standing up straight, and just from watching Dylan eat. A bite of spiced callix and Dylan nodded at him, and he tried to look casual even though watching Dylan’s lips close around the spoon was... practically pornographic.

He really prayed that Dylan hadn’t noticed.

Think about Magog, he told himself desperately. Think about slimy things, about Nightsider spawn, about Gerentex! Think about anything but Dylan’s mouth, but that was an unfortunate suggestion to himself, his gaze moved to Dylan’s hands again.

He was doomed.

  


* * *

Doing business with the Arpedi was... annoying. Thankfully, time spent with Beka had honed Dylan’s sense of what was fair dealing and what was sharp dealing, and when the Trade Association representative tried to rook him, he did a little sharp dealing of his own, ending up with a quarter tonne of frozen prawns to be delivered to the Maru. It wasn’t even indulgence, he’d ended up wheeling and dealing and getting the damned prawns thrown in for free.

Feeling unreasonably pleased with himself over how much pleasure the prawns would give Harper--stop that, he pleaded with his rebellious psyche as an image of that tongue licking sauce off prawns taunted him--he strolled along the wide boulevard toward the center of the city.

There were shops and restaurants and people celebrating rather... noisily. It appeared that this Festival wasn’t exactly sedate. He realized the utter truth of that statement when he turned the corner and nearly walked into two people who were only partly clothed and working hard at getting wholly unclothed.

Two men. A heartbreakingly sensual kiss, and hands touching and Dylan veered and walked into a building, stunned stupid with longing and desire. Not for these two, no.

For Harper.

Hell and hell and bloody damnation, he was lost, he was hopelessly lost, and he had to get his bearings. Somehow, he managed to keep walking even though the image burned into his brain transmuted from two strangers into Seamus Zelazny Harper and Dylan Hunt.

What the _hell_ was he going to do? He couldn’t make any overtures. He was the captain, and Harper, he had noticed, tended to accede to his wishes even when Harper felt he was being unreasonable.

Or insane.

Where did that leave him? Suspended, that’s where it left him. He had no idea what Harper’s thoughts and feelings might be on the matter, and he was damned well not going to try and guess. He wasn’t going to be able to do anything, and knowing that left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

So he was understandably cross when an attractive and scantily clad woman with a curious spiral tattoo on her right cheek wrapped herself around him at the next corner.

"No, thank you," he said, trying to be polite. God only knew what the customs were here; Harper had apparently expected him to understand that the Arpedi Festival included publicly carnal acts and strangers coming out of nowhere to grope a person rather more intimately than Dylan felt like being groped at the moment. At least by a stranger.

"I said, no thank you," he repeated, taking hold of her wrist, not totally gently. 

"You give offense to the Goddess, outworlder," she said throatily and used her other hand "Come, celebrate the act of love in Her name."

"No. Thank. You." He removed her other hand and naturally, she shrilled like a banshee.

"Blasphemy!"

Heads turned and people were regarding Dylan with a certain amount of hostility. It seemed prudent to withdraw.

"Blasphemer!" The woman was still shrieking. "You shall be punished!"

The hostility had increased.

"Please, excuse me," he said, still polite and turned back the way he had come. People drew aside to let him pass as if he were contaminated, and some of them wore the slim, plasteel bracelets of the non-Arpedi. He cursed his lack of foresight in researching local custom; this was what came of distraction, he told himself savagely, and added a little speed to his stride. 

Behind him, the shrieking continued with an added bonus: the thin whine of a siren.

He wondered uneasily if it had something to do with his ‘blasphemy’, but didn’t stop to find out. Halfway back to the restaurant, he ran into Harper. "I think I’m in a little trouble," he told Harper and explained.

Harper’s eyes widened. "She called you a blasphemer? Oh, shit. Come on, we gotta get out of here."

"I’m in a lot of trouble?"

"You wanna get publicly flogged?" Harper jerked at his arm, pulled him down an alleyway. 

"Not particularly." Dylan followed, both of them running. Another alley crossed this one, and Harper darted down it. "Where the hell are we going?"

"We’ll never make the trans." Harper pointed. "We’re heading for the park."

"What’s in the park?" 

"Hiding places." Harper sped again, and Dylan followed. More alleyways, and then a boulevard and they were both breathing hard by the time they reached the edge of the park. It looked more like a forest preserve, but neatly manicured, and Harper threaded his way through the park without hesitation.

Presumably, Harper knew what he was doing, he didn’t even pause despite some decidedly... erotic situations. The trees grew thicker, and there were little copses here and there occupied by varying numbers of revelers and then, while he was trying not to think about what he’d last seen, Harper stopped dead.

Dylan nearly ran over him, put a hand on Harper’s shoulder, and dragged in a long breath. They were standing near the edge of a lake and somehow, Harper, like the magician that he was, had obtained a half-empty bottle of wine and a blanket. "Harper, where did you--"

"I stole them. Shut up, I’m thinking." Harper stared at the lake. "Okay, good, this’ll work. Give me your wrist."

Perplexed, Dylan held out his arm. Harper pulled a small tool out of his pocket and deftly unlocked the bracelet, probed at the mechanism and made a satisfied sound. "Strip," he told Dylan shortly.

"Excuse me?" Dylan stared at him. 

"We’re getting in the water." Harper spread the blanket out, put the wine bottle crookedly next to it, and pulled out the seal. "You wanna lose all the skin on your back? They use a nasty whip here."

Dylan tried to think, shook his head, and pulled his shirt and singlet over his head. "I hope you know what you’re doing."

"I do." Harper sat down, untied his boots, and pulled them off. Stood up and pulled his own shirt off.

The sound of sirens seemed to be getting closer.

"Do they use the electronic signal to track?" Dylan reached for his waistband, tried not to watch Harper strip off the rest of his clothes. 

"Yeah, but I turned it off. They won’t have seen you, and you won’t have your bracelet on so you can’t be identified." Harper started toward the water. "Come on, they’re getting closer."

They were going for a swim. The day continued surreal. Stepping out of his pants and underwear, Dylan followed, trying not to notice Harper’s ass. Which was impossible.

So he focused on the sirens instead, which had a dampening effect on his libido.

The water was nearly as warm as blood, silky against his skin, and Harper swam out, ducked under the water. What the hell, he followed, still completely at a loss for precisely _how_ this was supposed to keep him from being arrested.

When he surfaced, the sirens were louder, nearly overhead. Dylan put his feet down on the sandy bottom of the lake, waited for Harper to swim back toward him. "Okay," Harper said, a little breathlessly and took hold of Dylan’s shoulders. "This is the deal. Act amorous." He leaned in and his mouth planted itself over Dylan’s.

He was going to suffer brain damage from blood deprivation if things didn’t stop happening this way, he thought. Acting amorous wasn’t going to be a problem; without conscious volition, he cupped Harper’s ass with one hand, and the back of Harper’s head with the other. Shock of warm skin against his own, and that completed the shutdown of rational thought, he swept his tongue over Harper’s lips, felt them part. Harper’s mouth was lush and hot and he sucked on Harper’s tongue, felt Harper’s arms go around his neck.

He was devouring Harper’s mouth when the aircar hovered directly overhead. It didn’t slow him down at all, didn’t stop him, and he squeezed Harper’s ass, stroked his fingers into the cleft and god, god, god, Harper was as hard as he was, hard against him and the hell with the Arpedi police, he was celebrating in the name of their damned goddess. 

Harper’s legs wrapped around him, and Harper wasn’t holding back either, and a voice in the very back of his mind asked him if he was taking advantage of Harper. He told it to shut the hell up, slid the other hand to Harper’s ass, too, and walked them both out of the water, carried Harper to the carefully arranged blanket and tumbled them both down on it. It was hard to tear himself away from Harper’s mouth, but there were other parts of Harper he wanted to taste. Pale nipples pebbled under his tongue and teeth, and Harper’s hands were in his hair; Harper arched up under him, making encouraging sounds and saying breathlessly, "Yeah, yeah, yeah." He gauged his success in finding the sensitive points by the yeahs, and worked his way down Harper’s belly, licked the hollow of Harper’s hip and across to Harper’s navel. Licked and sucked at the slight concavity and Harper arched higher, "Yeahyeahyeahyeah."

He ignored Harper’s cock for the moment, pushed Harper’s legs apart and licked and sucked at the inside of Harper’s thighs, ran his tongue upward to the soft, crumpled-velvet flesh between Harper’s legs. A mantra of yeahs with a fuck and oh god thrown in. He judged that experiment successful, repeated it a few more times just to be absolutely certain, and then swallowed Harper down.

Harper couldn’t be still without being manacled, he was willing to bet, and Harper was squirming around, trying to shift, and Dylan was so stupid with sex it took Harper several squirms and a tug at Dylan’s hair before Dylan figured out what it was that Harper wanted and obligingly shifted so Harper could return the favor.

And he’d been right, Harper tasted fucking incredible, or maybe it was just that he hadn’t done this for a while, or both. Somehow, they found a rhythm, not the easiest thing to do on first try, and the world narrowed down to the heat and thickness in his mouth and the mouth on his cock. He couldn’t even be sure _when_ he’d stopped hearing the sirens. He didn’t care, either, there was nothing outside of this moment, of heat and pleasure and Harper’s skin under his palm, Harper’s flesh in his mouth....

Harper came first, which had been Dylan’s aim anyway, and he swallowed it down, licked and sucked more gently until Harper finally whimpered around him.

The taste and that whimper pushed him over, he came so hard he was sure he was going to pass out, but didn’t. Colors behind his eyelids and it felt like it started at the base of his spine and pulled every bit of energy in his body out through his cock; he buried his face in Harper’s groin and nearly screamed.

When he could breathe again, he nuzzled Harper, lifted his head and Harper flopped over on his back, one arm over his eyes. Oh, yeah, he could relate to that. He wasn’t sure he could remember how to walk. He did manage to shift again to stretch out beside Harper. Put one proprietary hand on Harper’s belly and stroked it.

It felt just as good--no, it felt better than that--as he’d imagined.

He would just close his eyes for a moment, he thought. And just like that, sleep crept up on him and whacked him with a mallet. 

  


* * *

Harper woke suddenly, wondered where he was for a brief, panicky instant. His heart rate settled down, then leapt again when he realized Dylan was sitting up on the blanket, knees drawn up, arms wrapped loosely around them. Dylan’s back was to him, Dylan was staring out at the lake.

His stomach promptly tied itself up into a knot. Oh, hell. He’d taken advantage of the situation, sure, but it had been _Dylan’s_ tongue down his throat when he decided to go for it. Maybe Dylan had only been doing his best for, what was the word, verisimilitude. He wished he knew for sure. Who knew with Dylan, anyway?

He pushed himself upright to sit next to Dylan. It was nearly sunset. "Um. I guess we better get back to the Maru."

"Probably." Dylan glanced at him. "You okay?"

He frowned. "Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?" And hated his tone. It was nerves, that was all.

Dylan didn’t look at him. "Um. Harper, it occurs to me that--you didn’t feel like you had to, uh...." Dylan’s voice trailed off.

"Like I had to save your ass?" Snarkily.

Dylan cleared his throat audibly. "No, not that." 

Suddenly, it hit Harper. Dylan thought-- "Hell, no. I mean, sure, I tend to react when someone puts their tongue down my throat, but if I hadn’t wanted to--are you crazy?"

Dylan sighed. "Probably." Looked at him directly, just the faintest smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "I’ve been waiting to do that for a while."

Harper went hot all over. "Um. Me, too."

Dylan’s smile didn’t go away until his mouth touched Harper’s. And then Harper was holding on, getting one of the best kisses of his entire adult life--well, if he didn’t count the ones earlier. Warm and gentle, and then hot and hungry and he pulled back, scowled. "What do you think I am? If I didn’t want to, you’d have known about it."

Dylan blinked at him, a little dazed. "Ah. Yeah. Well, I just thought maybe I sort of carried you along in the moment."

Harper frowned. "I’m not a kid."

Dylan’s mouth twitched. "Compared to me, you are."

"Yeah, well, you’re more than three hundred years old." What the hell was he snarking about when that mouth was smiling at him? Harper dove in again and ended up climbing into Dylan’s arms and lap, long, slow kisses. "We better get back to the Maru," he finally said regretfully and then felt a flash of panic. "God, whatever you do, don’t let Beka figure this out."

Dylan’s gaze went distant for a moment. "You know--I wonder if she already has." 

"Huh?" Harper blinked. "But--"

Dylan’s eyes came back to life. "You know, the more I think about it--Beka’s very observant." Drily.

Harper considered that. Blinked again. "That bitch."

Dylan’s expression was startled. "What?"

"You’re right. She’s figured it out." Harper scowled. "She got me up this morning and told me I had to practically squeak and what to wear and that I had to sit next to you to ‘show you the schematic’."

Dylan’s mouth twitched. "And then there was the spoon."

"The spoon?" Harper frowned, puzzled. "How does that prove--"

Dylan stroked fingers over the small of Harper’s back. "Do you know that when you stretch, your shirt comes untucked?" Almost a purr. 

Harper’s mouth went dry at the thought of Dylan staring at little bits and pieces of him with desire. "It does?" Faintly.

"It does." Dylan’s fingers teased the small of his back again. "And all I could think about was putting my mouth on your skin." Husky voice.

Harper whimpered. "Do you know you smell good even after a workout?"

Dylan grinned. "Do I?"

"Really good." Harper said firmly and leaned in. More kisses. The best kisses. Okay, so it was kind of weird, having someone this big wrapped around him, but it was good weird, not bad weird, and they were never going to get to the Maru, and that wouldn’t do at all. He pulled back reluctantly. "So, um, what do we do?"

Dylan arched both eyebrows. "Do it again as often as possible?"

Oh, god. He felt his bones melting. "I like that idea." Not just a one-time thing. He should have figured that out from the kissing, but hey, he needed as much reassurance as the next guy. "But I meant about Beka."

"Oh, I think something sneaky is called for." Dylan licked the hollow of Harper’s throat. "Let’s think about it on the way back to the Andromeda."

Sneaky sounded good. Harper grinned. "Have I told you ever just how much I love the way your mind works? Like when you outfoxed Tyr?"

"Which time?" Dylan’s eyes glinted and he kissed Harper hard. "Maru. We’ve got deliveries coming."

"Deliveries?" Harper blinked at him.

Dylan’s grin was... delighted. "Prawns."

Prawns. His skin felt hot again. He kissed Dylan hard back, and scrambled for their clothes.

  


* * *

"But I like my idea," Harper said and snickered. "It’s justice."

Dylan looked back at him. "But I’m the captain." He sounded suspiciously plaintive to himself; he suspected that a part of him enthusiastically endorsed Harper’s idea if only because a) it allowed him to get his hands on Harper again and b) it allowed him to see Beka’s stunned expression.

"So, it’s undignified." Harper sauntered forward, and leaned against the side of the pilot’s seat. "Think of her expression, Dylan. It’s going to be even worse because she’ll think it’s hot and she’ll never, ever, ever get to watch."

Dylan felt an unseemly surge of arousal at that thought. "True," he agreed, almost reluctantly. "There is that." God, he was reverting to his wild and reckless youth. Still, Beka did deserve some comeuppance. "But I have enough trouble commanding Beka; I’m not sure this is the best idea."

Harper leaned in and sucked Dylan’s earlobe. He reached out, hooked his arm around Harper, and kissed Harper’s mouth long and hard. "Stop that." 

Harper’s gaze was unfocused. "What?"

"You’re as bad as Beka." But he said it mildly. "Trying to convince me with your charms."

"Did it work?"

He couldn’t prevent the grin that blossomed. "Half-way. Try harder."

Harper grinned back, climbed up into his lap. "Ever done this in flight?"

"Not in the pilot’s seat." He was certifiably insane. And Harper felt perfectly right in his lap. He tore himself away long enough to set the locked course on auto, then slid his hands up under Harper’s shirt. "We’re both crazy."

"Live dangerously," Harper invited. "It could be fun." 

"Oh, it’ll be fun all right," Dylan agreed and kissed him again. Slid one hand into the back of Harper’s pants.

Sometime later, Harper surfaced from the series of kisses. "Is this really happening?"

"If it isn’t," Dylan said judiciously, "I’m going to wake up with rather sticky sheets."

Harper licked his lips. "How long until we get to Andromeda?"

"About an hour." Dylan licked Harper’s mouth. "What did you have in mind?"

"Anything you want."

Okay, it was _not_ a good thing that his brain shorted out at that. Or maybe it was. "Let’s save anything for later." Huskily. "If there’s any kind of emergency, I’ll need to have at least a few brain cells working."

"Good point." Harper’s hands were under his shirt. "We could just fool around then."

"Fooling around is good." Dylan unfastened Harper’s pants, reached inside. "Oh, yeah, it certainly is."

Harper squirmed closer. Kissed him again.

He really was certifiable. The proof of that assertion was that he didn’t really care. Harper was warm and sweet in his hand, in his lap. 

"I want to see your face when you come," he whispered and Harper’s eyes closed to slits, Harper made a sound in his throat.

It seemed to be assent. 

He might be certifiable, but whatever force ruled the universe was definitely smiling on him.

Sweet and abandoned, at least to him, for this moment, and Dylan took his time, teasing and tantalizing until he was so hard he ached, until Harper rocked into his fist, sweating and encouraging and finally, god, finally shuddering, his face tight with ecstasy, shooting hot and slippery over Dylan’s fingers. And then sagged, shivering against Dylan, arms tight around Dylan. The scent of sex, and Harper slid down, fumbled Dylan’s pants open, and he gasped at Harper’s mouth on him. Harper’s mouth was just as sweet, just as knowing, and even if orgasm wasn’t quite as cataclysmic this time, it was... amazing. He loosened his fingers in spiky hair, smoothed it gently.

A light blinked on, alerting him to Andromeda’s proximity. He tugged Harper up, kissed him, and tasted himself on Harper’s tongue. Slow and languid and he let go reluctantly. Harper’s mouth was puffy, and now he could see the marks he’d left on Harper’s neck. "If Beka is alone when we see her, we do it your way." He smiled at the glint in Harper’s eyes. "You have that just-fucked look anyway."

Harper smoldered at him. "Not yet, I don’t."

God. "Close enough."

"Not for me." Harper purred, leaned into him. "I’m going to change my pants, at least." He rubbed his cheek against Dylan’s. "And we both smell like sex."

"My very thought." Dylan hugged him hard. "Go, change. This could be fun."

"This will definitely be fun," Harper told him and grinned before vanishing.

  


* * *

Harper bit back a grin as he and Dylan walked down the Maru’s ramp. Beka had been unable to resist, she stood at the door, barely hiding her curiosity.

"Mission successful, boss," he told her cheerfully. He’d changed his shirt, too, wore one without a collar. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small bag of seed callix and tossed it to her.

She caught it reflexively, but he saw her eyes widen as she studied him. Dylan nodded at her pleasantly. "And in addition to the processed callix, I brought back a little surprise. Arpedi prawns."

"I introduced him to them," Harper said innocently. "Convinced him just how good they could be."

Beka’s gaze flicked between them. "You did." She straightened. "Well, good, that’s great."

"And to so much more," Dylan said pleasantly and, god, smoldered at Harper. 

It was really hard to remember he was doing this to get Beka. "Well, that was actually sort of mutual," he allowed, playing it by ear.

"A celebration of the goddess." Dylan agreed.

"In the sacred lake." Harper smoldered back, remembering Dylan’s mouth over his, remembering Dylan’s hunger.

"Well, and on the grass." Dylan was still smoldering at him.

From the corner of his eye, Harper saw Beka’s jaw drop, judged the moment was right and flung himself at Dylan. Holy--Dylan didn’t hold back, either, his hands cupped Harper’s ass and that mouth, that tongue, those lips....

Something hit the floor with a soft thump. Dylan released him. Made a sound like a growl in his throat, nodded pleasantly at Beka. "Everything uneventful while we were gone?"

Harper steadied himself. The thump had been the sack of seed callix.

Beka’s hand was at her throat. "What?"

"Uneventful," Harper prompted. "Things. Here."

"Oh, yeah." Beka’s face was very flushed.

"Good." Dylan smiled at her cheerfully. Smoldered at Harper again. "I’ll see _you_ later," he growled and went on his way. 

Harper smiled innocently, and followed.

  


* * *

Harper was eating prawns again. Lying on his stomach, head rested on folded arms, Dylan felt too languid to do much of anything about it. Strike that, he wasn’t too languid to open his mouth when Harper held one to his lips. 

They really were delicious. He licked Harper’s thumb, sucked Harper’s forefinger.

Harper made a noise in his throat, leaned in to lick Dylan’s mouth. 

He had less chance of getting it up again anytime soon as he did re-establishing the Commonwealth in what remained of his lifetime, but he returned that kiss with interest. And then some.

Harper drew back, his gaze unfocused. "You know, for a guy over 300, you really--" Quick shake of the head. "We’re driving Beka crazy."

Dylan arched an eyebrow. "How?"

Wicked grin. "Because you’re all business on-shift, and I’m all business on-shift."

"Good." Dylan rolled over on his back, opened his mouth for another offered prawn. "Serves her right for attempting to use you as the honey pot."

Harper snickered, rubbed his thumb over Dylan’s lower lip. "I think she said something to Trance. Trance was sort of hinting around, like she wanted to ask, but wasn’t sure she should."

"Mmmm." Dylan closed his fingers around Harper’s wrist, just because he could, rubbed his thumb against the softer skin on the underside. "Well, it’s a small crew. It’s unlikely that it’s going to stay a secret for long."

Harper looked down at him, his expression curiously intent. "That bother you?"

Dylan considered. "If it did, it’s too late to worry about. But this isn’t exactly a High Guard crew, you’re all already insubordinate as hell." He let his mouth twitch, saw Harper relax fractionally. "Besides, I’m not superhuman, I couldn’t keep resisting my impulses."

Harper laughed, delighted. "To lick my belly button?"

"Among other things." Dylan smiled. "But in the meantime, I admit, I’m just evil enough to enjoy driving Beka out of her mind with curiosity."

"I love the way your mind works." Admiringly and Harper ate the last prawn with his free hand. Started to lick his fingers, but Dylan captured that wrist, too, and did the honors.

"If you keep doing that," Harper said, a little huskily, "You’re going to be in trouble."

"You have a high opinion of my capabilities." Dylan smirked. "Or yours."

Laughing, Harper slid down to lie against him. "So driving Beka crazy is a good thing?"

"For the moment." Dylan nuzzled Harper’s throat. He was still behind on the universe, but he was feeling a lot more like he really was still alive. 

Harper nuzzled back. Sighed. "It’s getting late."

"You aren’t going anywhere." Dylan arched an eyebrow. "While I appreciate your sense of discretion, I’d rather have you here. Of course, if you don’t want to stay--"

"Oh, right, like that’s the case." Harper snorted, nuzzled again. "I just don’t want to fuck things up, that’s all. Don’t want to make trouble for you."

"Just remember this. It will drive Beka crazier." It was unkind of him to have this much fun at Beka’s expense, Dylan thought, but he still hadn’t quite forgiven Beka for trying to play with them. On the other hand, if it hadn’t been for Beka and his own distraction, this might not have ever happened. 

He was going to have to find a way to make some of it up to her.

But later.

Right now he had some living to catch up on.

***THE END***


End file.
